The Findings of a Registered Animagus
by wingcat
Summary: Minerva McGonagall's adventures as transfiguration teacher, Deputy headmistress, and Animagus. Cats, foundlings, students, student rivalry, fellow professors, and detentions. A new take on Minerva McGonagall's character, and on the animagus transformation
1. In which McGonagall reflects on her Job

The Findings of a Registered Animagus

A McGonagall Fiction

Chapter 1:

In which Professor McGonagall reflects on her job

Professor Minerva McGonagall, the Deputy Headmistress and Transfigurations teacher of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, sighed as she began grading a pile of assignments handed in by her second year students. It was almost the holidays, and every year, she had to grade essays that rambled off topic, as though those who wrote them had been thinking about other things instead of the issue at hand. She hated to see their faces fall at the marks they received, which were not what they had wanted; but above all, Professor McGonagall was _**fair**_. If they couldn't keep their minds on their schoolwork, she wasn't going to let them get away with it, nor would she encourage their behavior by giving them good marks they didn't deserve.

She did grade on a curve though, and judged that this lapse in attention around the holidays would not cause lasting effects on their overall marks. Still, it was hard not to reprimand them, or to not write all over their essays with criticism. When students persisted in going off topic, and giving incorrect facts, which she had gone over repeatedly in classes, it showed that the young magic users didn't pay enough attention in classes around the holidays either. It frustrated McGonagall that she had to grade such essays, when she knew they weren't even necessary and she would have to review the material after the holidays anyway. She wished… well she couldn't let her students go without homework in the week before the hols. She had an image to uphold, and it would ruin the image she had cultivated, much like her colleague Severus Snape; that of a strict teacher who always "gives loads of homework" and if someone "so much as crossed her" she would give even more, along with the threat of detention and points taken away from their respective houses.

The essay in front of her was written by one of her Gryffindors, a young girl named Ivy Cromwell. It had started out with the proper assignment, that of turning inanimate objects into living creatures, involving a metal sphere transfigured into a mouse; which quickly degenerated into the uses of such a transfiguration; mentioning placing a marble on the floor of a crowded room and transforming it into the rodent, hopefully causing screaming and confusion.

As the students were writing in ink, anything which wasn't supposed to be there was crossed out. A line that had been dealt with in that way proved _interesting,_ and almost made her laugh. "If a spell could be found that would trigger the transfiguration at a later time, for example, to use over the holidays, when magic is not allowed to be cast but is allowed to be activated; pranks could be played more easily on cousins, and if someone wanted to put a mouse in someone's knickers, then it would be easier using magic"

There actually were some spells that could be used in such a way. Of course they were very limited; they would not last longer than a month or so, but a spell like that would be a good way not to get caught. The culprit would be able to activate it at any time, and could actually be somewhere else, with an alibi for the prank, so as not to be incriminated.

She wrote her corrections in the margin of the essay, and added a note about what book would be likely to contain the spells needed, and a few more educational uses for it. She also added prank ideas of her own, which she 'crossed out' so that it seemed as if she hadn't meant to inform her student of any inappropriate uses for the spells found in that book. She wondered if her ideas would be used. That was one of the joys of teaching, if she could teach more; teach something that would stay in the student's minds, under the guise of something she shouldn't have let slip, then so much for the better. To know that what you taught didn't go to waste, but was actually used, in ways that provoke the imagination and influence new discoveries; well, it just made her job seem worthwhile.

As the Professor moved on to her next essay, a movement on the grounds, as seen from her window caught her eye. She was a cat animagus, and even in human form was able to detect movement at least ten times better than an ordinary human. Animagi often took on traits of their animal form. She, for instance, had excellent eyesight, and wore glasses mostly because they allowed her to look down her nose at misbehaving teenage magic users who were taller than herself. As she aged, she used them more for reading. She had worn glasses long before she had studied the animagus transformation, and it had become habit to reach for her glasses in the mornings.

Other feline traits she had retained in human form were her extraordinary sense of balance, sharp hearing, and a certain cat-like grace of movement. As a Registered Animagus, She was known by her markings in feline form. She could be picked out easily from a dozen tabby cats due to the spectacle stripes around her eyes. It was a small price to pay to be able to see the awe on her students' faces as they saw her transformation for the first time, and to witness those with enthusiasm try to become animagi also. She had had three students study under her in their quest to change into an animal at will. Only one had succeeded, and the others had quit after a while. When one of her students had found out his form was to be a mosquito, he had immediately ended his training to become an animagus. The other had been so far along with her training that the professor privately thought she had completed her training by herself, and was now a free unregistered animagus. Whatever the case, Minerva McGonagall enjoyed being an animagus, and the benefits being one reaped.

Certain species of animals actually communicated with each other, the cat being one of them. As a result, Professor McGonagall could understand the language of felines, though she had never told anyone. Therefore it came as no surprise when a large ginger tomcat entered her office, leapt onto the desk, and spoke to her. 

"I thought you should know…" he paused, licking his hind leg as he determined the best way to phrase his news. Tail twitching in confusion, he continued: "There is a strange man at the edge of the forest. He is unknown to any of us, and is lying on his back in the snow, like a mouse hit too hard with a paw. He appears to be unconscious, and he smells like blood. One of us is with him, and they should be visible from this window."

She remembered the flash of movement from near the forest that had caught her eye. She didn't see how an injured man lying supine on the ground could have moved so quickly, but maybe what she'd seen was a feline's startled reaction to the discovery. Quickly snatching up her wand from where it had been lying on the desk next to her, she transformed, and firmly said in the speech of the felines: "lead me to him."


	2. In which McGonagall is not a mediwitch

Chapter 2:

In which Professor McGonagall is a teacher, not a doctor!

Hogwarts. For anyone who is not a muggle, the name represents a breathtakingly beautiful castle in the scottish highlands. Hogwarts grounds are well kept, and green rolling moorland surrounds the castle lawns. Large greenhouses, though diminished by the magnificence of the Castle itself, are still impressive. The loch, bright, and glittering in the sunlight, except where the trees in the nearby forest overshadow it, is cool and deep, and is inhabited by a giant squid and a colony of merpeople. The Dark Forest, known to students as the Forbidden Forest, is home to centaurs, unicorns, and all manner of magical creatures, including, it is rumored, Acromantulae.

Of course Hogwarts isn't always pristine—Scotland is famous for its precipitation, and in dreary rain, it is not always possible to see Hogwart's glory through the mists. In winter, a thick blanket of snow often hides the distinctive features of the landscape. But, to a muggle, perhaps a hiker on the moors, Hogwarts is just, well, not Hogwarts. At most, it seems a ruin, but, such a ruin that it is not interesting enough to want to explore. It is less intact than other more famous ruined castles, Castle Urquart for example, on Loch Ness. The wards ancient wizards put on the school to make it seem this way for muggles also suggest that exploring would be unsafe, and 'wasn't there something you were supposed to be doing elsewhere?' A muggle arriving at the edge of the wards would think just that, and leave.

Professor McGonagall wondered whether the same would be true of an injured muggle. Would a muggle on Hogwarts grounds with a broken leg really believe he left the kettle on, and hobble off without a backwards glance? Such a muggle might hobble off to find help perhaps? After all, if Hogwarts appears a ruin to them, muggles wouldn't expect someone who could aid them to be inside. How often did muggles come across Hogwarts by chance? She'd never seen one on Hogwarts grounds in all her years of teaching.

He must be a muggle, this unconscious man lying at the edge of the forest. Unfamiliar to the cats, the man, if he was a wizard, must not have gone to Hogwarts. If he were extremely old, the cat would have mentioned it, extremely young, man would have translated as boy. (Well, kitten-man if you want to be literal, a man so young that if he were a cat he would still be in the care of his mother.) If the man were a werewolf, that would have been obvious to the cats, and the entire situation would have been different. At the very least it would have been mentioned! Cats have a keen sense of smell. Different from a dog's, but a cat still uses his nose to help him interpret the universe around him, and if this unconscious man were anything other than human, the cats would have known. That ruled out animagi as well. Cats immediately knew that she was a cat animagus, and thus ceased their 'Humans are so unobservant' eye blink commentary, when she was present, for they knew she could understand them.

Professor McGonagall realized her thoughts had been taking enough of her attention that her pace had slowed, and the tomcat she was following was almost thirty feet ahead of her down the corridor. She broke into a run to cover the distance, thankful she was in cat form. It would seem unprofessional for students to see her run through the halls. Running in corridors was frowned upon at Hogwarts except for emergencies. Although, she reasoned, if the man was hurt, it was an emergency. The ginger tom barely glanced at her as she reached his side, and continued his saunter with his tail high. She noticed he was a bit bow legged, but that didn't slow him down at all. By the time the two of them reached the Entrance Hall, she was gasping for breath. "I ought to traverse the corridors in my cat form more often" she panted, "I didn't realize I was so out of shape, or that the hall was such a distance from my classroom." The tom looked amused, but declined to comment.

They reached the main entrance, two enormous solid wooden doors, decorated with elaborate carvings. Seeing they were closed, the professor went to transform, but the tom let out a quiet hiss, and lead her to a smaller archway to the right of the main doors. This was made of stone, but when the tom touched it with his nose, he was able to walk through it as if it was air. Her eyes wide with surprise, Professor McGonagall, emulating him, warily approached the archway, and pressed it with her nose. Nothing happened. She attempted to walk through it as he had, and met with a solid wall. If she'd been human, she would have said a few choice words, but she was a cat, and instead, sat down a few paces away, and licked her shoulder nonchalantly until the sting of embarrassment had faded. If she'd been human, she would have used the doors, she thought grumpily.

A ginger paw, claws out stretched, appeared from within the wall. She again attempted the stone doorway, neatly avoiding the grasping claws of her companion, and to her delight, this time it allowed her through. A chill breeze ruffled her fur, bringing with it the scents of the outdoors, and while she could not see anything yet, being somewhere within the wall, she could dimly hear the sound of Hagrid, the half-giant Gamekeeper, whistling to his boarhound. In the half instant where she was marveling as always in her feline abilities, the darkness of the wall changed into the brightness of an early winter afternoon. Blinking, she was able to make the fluffy orange blur beside her resolve itself into the unmistakable image of the tomcat laughing at her. Her eyes narrowed. She turned away from him so that he couldn't see her face, and said in her iciest tone, "I believe we were out here for a reason?"

Down the stone steps, across the lawns, past Hagrid's hut, and the Whomping Willow, the two cats trotted towards the treeline. As they crossed the snowy expanse that separated them from their target, the tabby asked the ginger how long the man had been there. The tomcat twitched his ears, "He wasn't there this morning, and he was discovered when the sun was highest."

Two hours. She felt cold. She'd been grading essays while this man was freezing outside in the snow. No matter that she had instantly left to help him as soon as she knew he was there; she still felt guilty. She was Head of Gryffindor House after all, the house of the brave and bold, protectors of the weak, and defenders of the innocent. And as Deputy Headmistress, she had an obligation to make sure all on Hogwarts grounds were safe in her charge.

A dark shape was crumpled at the roots of a large beech tree at the edge of the forest. Her cat eyes, attuned to movement like the eyes of most hunters, easily picked up the rise and fall of the man's chest as he breathed. There was no reaction to their approach except for a mew'd greeting from the unconscious man's feline guardian. Her nose's ability to pick up scents was slightly dulled by the cold, but she noted the smell of blood the cat had mentioned. It did not smell fresh. She circled the still form on the ground, her whiskers brushing his clothing as she navigated her way towards his face. Gazing at it, she pressed her nose against his cheek.

The man's skin was cool and clammy. He was lying in snow, and it was winter after all! "I'm not a mediwitch!" she thought in a panic, "what am I supposed to do?" Her feline instincts took over. _Warmth_. "He's too cold. He needs to be warm." In an instant, she transformed, the suddenness of her change from cat to human startling the small tortoiseshell curled on the man's chest. Standing up, her head brushed a snow laden limb, but luckily the resulting snowfall missed both the man on the ground and the two cats curled around him. She raised her wand, and cast a number of warming charms in quick succession. "There. Now Poppy won't have to treat him for frostbite." She was pleased with herself. Being the Mistress of Transfigurations at Hogwarts for so many years, she still hadn't lost her knack for charms. As a human now, she observed her patient. She could see many more visual details from this vantage point than she had as a cat.

Pale skin, too pale, even with her warming charms in place, dark hair, the man, for he was indeed a man and not a boy, could have passed for a distant relative of at least half a dozen pureblood families she could name. His face wasn't extremely memorable in his unconscious state, and his aristocratic features were common in the wizarding world, reminiscent of those that ran in the families of Black, Rookwood, Smith, Nott, LeStrange, Crawford, and Longbottom, just to name a few. If you stop to consider it, it was obvious that the older families shared some genetic heritage. This man could have belonged to any. His clothes supported that assessment. He was a wizard then, wearing dark grey robes that were once well tailored to fit his lean frame. Now though, they looked as if he'd been wearing them for at least a day, and from their state, she could only assume he'd been traipsing through the forest until he collapsed at the edge of it. You could achieve the same effect if you'd hung them on a wall in a room full of bored kittens, for a myriad of small tears and rips marred the otherwise high quality fabric. They bore no distinctive crests or insignia, and the cut was something generic that almost everyone was wearing nowadays. The robes looked like Malkins fall line of the current year, so whoever he was, he kept up with the fashion. Too bad that didn't help her to identify him.

She estimated his age to be somewhere in his late twenties or thirties, but you never know with wizards. Some age better than others. The cats had been right, he wasn't known to her, this mysterious stranger lying on his back on the cold ground at the edge of the forest...Oh. Yes, she needed to do something about that. It wasn't that she was absent minded, nor was she going senile, but the sense of urgency she'd felt when she first laid eyes on the man had faded. She levitated him gently with her wand, prompting the tomcat to growl a disgruntled _mrrr _at being displaced from his spot in the crook of the man's arm. He'd been lying on the ground, limbs akimbo, for long enough that the robes had begun to show signs of frost in the creases where they'd met the snow, and his clothing had stiffened enough that it didn't dangle as she eased him through the air, keeping him level so as not to disturb him. Even so, he stirred slightly, letting out a faint moan. Something about his voice did seem familiar, but whatever it was could wait until he was somewhere dry and warm. The tiny queen on his chest crouched there, digging her claws into the fabric, tail lashing, as stiff as the clothes, her green eyes glaring her displeasure at the unexpected flight.


End file.
